


Love, War, Forge

by winter_hiems



Category: Cyrano de Bergerac - Edmond Rostand
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Greek Religion & Lore Fusion, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arranged Marriage, Body Image, Canon Bisexual Character, Canon Disabled Character, Childhood Friends, Don't copy to another site, F/M, Falling In Love, Feelings, Feelings Realization, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Insecurity, Intimacy, Kissing, Light Angst, Love Confessions, Love Triangle, M/M, Mutual Pining, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Pining, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Requited Unrequited Love, Self-Esteem Issues, Sharing a Bed, Temporarily Unrequited Love, Tending Wounds, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:02:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28506402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_hiems/pseuds/winter_hiems
Summary: Roxane, goddess of love, and Cyrano, god of the forge, are forced to marry each other by De Guiche, king of the gods. De Guiche’s plan is that if Roxane’s stuck in an unhappy marriage, then she’ll look more kindly on his own romantic overtures. After all, there’s no way she could fall in love with someone as ugly as Cyrano.And how does Christian, the handsome god of war, come into this?
Relationships: Christian de Neuvillette/Roxane, Cyrano de Bergerac/Christian de Neuvillette, Cyrano de Bergerac/Christian de Neuvillette/Roxane, Cyrano de Bergerac/Roxane
Comments: 8
Kudos: 7





	1. Prologue

“What?” said Roxane, the word reverberating around the marble walls of the chamber like the crack of a whip. 

“I said,” said De Guiche, “That you are going to marry Cyrano.” 

Roxane looked at Cyrano. 

Cyrano looked at Roxane. 

Roxane didn’t know exactly what expression her face was currently wearing, but apparently it was enough for Cyrano to step forward and say, “Don’t be ridiculous. Roxane and I are friends, nothing more.” 

De Guiche narrowed his eyes. “May I remind you that I am king of the gods? My word is law, and I say that you will marry. Or else.” 

“Or else what?” asked Roxane. 

Lightning flashed in the sky outside, bringing with it a rumble of thunder. “Or else,” said De Guiche, his voice as soft as cruelty. 

“Why?” Roxane knew that she should probably stop asking questions, but she asked anyway. 

De Guiche’s eyes travelled the length of her body, and Roxane suppressed a shudder. “You incite lust among the gods, and jealousy among the goddesses. You must be married. Cyrano is a… valued member of Olympus, and a bachelor. So you will marry him.” 

“Neither of us get a choice, do we?” Roxane said quietly. She wanted to yell, to scream and claw at De Guiche with her nails, but she kept herself in check. If it came to a fight, she would lose. 

Cyrano folded his arms. “Let’s just get it over with, shall we?” 

De Guiche nodded. “By the power vested in me as the king of the gods, I hereby declare you both to be man and wife. Now, if you will excuse me, I must inform the other Olympians of your marriage.” He nodded at them, business-like, and left the room. 

Roxane sank to her knees. After a moment, Cyrano sat down beside her. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I think I’m probably the last man you’d want to be married to.” 

She gave him a small smile at that. “Not the last. At least I’m married to a friend… it could have been anyone De Guiche wanted. It’s just…” she ran a hand through her hair. “I’m the goddess of love. If I’m marrying someone, it should be for love, not because the king of the gods orders it.” Roxane looked up at him. “Are you alright? I mean, neither of us is going to be able to marry for love, now.” 

A flicker of pain crossed his face, and he hid it away as fast as it appeared. “I think I’ll be able to live with it. And as much as De Guiche has forced the marriage, he can’t force anything else. Separate beds, I promise.” 

Roxane pushed herself to her feet. “I want to get out of Olympus for a while. I know that people will stare when I come back, but I’d rather be stared at when our marriage is old news. I need some time to get used to this.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A list of the characters and the gods they parallel:
> 
> Roxane – Aphrodite. The goddess of beauty for the most beautiful woman in Paris.
> 
> Cyrano – Hephaestus. In this fic, Cyrano’s skill isn’t poetry, it’s craftsmanship. He’s still an artist, just for a different form of art. Similarly, in this fic Cyrano’s ugliness isn’t his nose, it’s the fact that his face just isn’t attractive. Also, in the final act of Rostand’s play, Cyrano uses a cane, so this ties in with the fact that Hephaestus is disabled.
> 
> Christian – Ares. Not quite as good a fit as the other two, but Ares is Aphrodite’s lover, and Christian is a soldier, so he sort of fits as the god of war.
> 
> De Guiche – Zeus. They’re both leaders who can’t stay faithful to their wives.
> 
> Le Bret – Hermes. He’s a pretty nice guy who knows everyone, and tbh he needs a break.
> 
> This fic took a while to write. I’m talking months. Usually only my longest fics take that long to write up, but at least I’ve got it done now!
> 
> Comments and kudos are always welcome <3
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own the characters. I am not making money from this work.


	2. Chapter 1

They both agreed to stay away from Olympus for a time. They also knew that if they separated, gods and goddesses and maybe even a few nymphs would come calling, digging for gossip on the failed marriage of the most beautiful goddess to the ugliest god. 

Roxane had no official home, so they both went back to Cyrano’s mountain. He offered her the best of the guest bedrooms, just down the hallway from his own. 

And then, heart heavy in his chest, he went to the only person he could talk to: Le Bret, the messenger god. 

*

“I don’t think you’ve been entirely honest with me, Cyrano,” said Le Bret, sipping his cup of nectar. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, I’ve told you nothing but the truth.” Cyrano snapped. 

Le Bret tutted. “You see, that’s the thing. You came over, and you told me facts. Facts about your marriage. Facts are clear-cut and cold, but right now, you are obviously despondent over something. So leave the facts behind, and tell me why you’re so upset.” 

Cyrano bowed his head. “I’m in love with Roxane.” 

*

Cyrano was unable to pinpoint the exact moment when he fell in love with Roxane. 

All he could do was look at the events as they had happened, and know that he must have fallen in love somewhere in the middle of them. 

It went like this. 

His mother (a minor goddess whom Cyrano never visited, and they both preferred it that way) had given birth to Cyrano, taken one look at his ugly face, and tossed him from Olympus. He had fallen into the sea, breaking his left leg in the impact against the water. 

It healed, but it healed wrong. Eventually, swimming around under the waves, he’d figured out how to forge the metal he’d found in shipwrecks inside the warmth of underwater vents. He made a brace for his leg, and one day, out of simple curiosity, he decided to leave the sea. 

He struggled up on to a beach, realising that with a bad leg, swimming was easier than walking, but he found a rhythm that worked and walked along the shore, looking around as he went. 

The beach was a large crescent of sand, and Cyrano, young as he was, had no interest in anything on the other side of the cliffs, so he stayed on the beach, never bothering to check for any sign of civilisation. 

Over the next few… well, he had no idea if it had been months or years, but over the next period of time, he set up a forge in one of the caves and took to living on land most of the time, only entering the sea to scavenge for more metal. 

And then, one day, Roxane appeared. 

The sun was at the half-mast of afternoon, the sky a cloudless cerulean, and a girl walked out of the sea, born from sunlight shining through sea foam. 

Cyrano had never been around people before. His boyish mind had known nothing of standards of beauty. He probably wouldn’t have known that there was something wrong with one of his legs except that the other one was straighter and never hurt. So in the moment when he first saw her, he didn’t know that Roxane was beautiful. 

All he knew was that he had a companion. 

She smiled and waved at him. 

He smiled and waved back. 

They became friends. 

Theirs was an easy childhood, spent weaving clothes from seaweed and dune grass, picking flowers and comparing them to anemones. 

Cyrano started to make things in his forge that were specifically for Roxane: pins for her clothes and combs for her hair, which she accepted with smiles that made his heart beat faster. 

They had mock-swordfights with bits of wood, which Cyrano won, and races along the beach, which Roxane won. 

And one day, shattering the calm innocence of childhood, the gods came. 

The sun god had been flying through the sky on his blazing chariot when he happened to look down and spy a cove where two children were playing. And they were both undoubtedly gods. 

He immediately went to Olympus to tell of his discovery. “The boy,” he said, “is nothing worth looking at, but the girl… she’s the most beautiful creature I ever beheld.” 

The gods came, and they took Cyrano, son of a minor goddess, and Roxane, daughter of sea foam, to Olympus. 

And on Olympus, Roxane and Cyrano made a discovery. 

Roxane was beautiful. 

Eyes followed her wherever she went. The gods universally declared that she was the most stunning creature they had ever seen. 

She was announced as the goddess of love and beauty, and soon after found that she had a talent for altering the looks and feelings of mortals (though she figured out early on that she didn’t like breaking their hearts, even if it was well within her capability). 

Roxane and Cyrano also discovered that apparently, Cyrano was ugly. 

Where eyes were drawn to Roxane whereever she went, they slid away from Cyrano’s face quickly. 

Mocking remarks were made behind hands to intimate friends. 

Comments were made along the lines of _‘what is the goddess of beauty doing being friends with someone who looks like that’._

When Cyrano made a mirror and looked into it, he had to admit they had a point. 

Which was a problem, because by that time he was fully aware that he loved Roxane. He would look down from Olympus at the world below, watch young couples walk hand in hand, and think about how he wanted to do that with her. 

But it would never be, not for a man who looked like him. 

*

“I don’t see what your problem is, then,” said Le Bret. “You love her, and now you’re married to her. Isn’t that what you want?” 

“Use your head,” said Cyrano. “It’s an arranged marriage. She doesn’t want it. If anything, I have less of a chance of winning her heart, now that I’ve been forced on her.” 

Le Bret shrugged. “There’s still a chance. The two of you will be spending much more time together. Be a gentleman, and who knows where that might lead…” 

“I’m always a gentleman,” Cyrano replied reflexively. “And it would be awful if I was nice to her just to get up her skirt. I’ll just be how I always am. I won’t thrust my expectations on her, not now and not ever.” 

*

He was inspecting a large chunk of iron ore that the cyclopes had brought him when he heard Roxane’s scream. 

He reacted faster than thought, sprinting towards the source of the sound. 

He found Roxane in her bedroom, locked in De Guiche’s arms as she tried to push him away. One side of his face bore scratches from her fingernails. 

Cyrano balled his fists and felt flames lick their way up his arms. His voice was low and dangerous. “Get away from my wife.” 

De Guiche looked up in surprise, and Roxane took advantage of the distraction. She slammed her knee up between his legs and backed out of his embrace, then kept backing away until she was standing beside Cyrano. 

Groaning, De Guiche got to his feet. “You bitch, you dare –” 

“Keep that word off my wife,” said Cyrano. De Guiche stepped forward and Cyrano smiled. “Go on. Attack me. Give me an excuse to fight you. If it came to a fight, are you sure you’d win?” 

They eyed each other for a few moments. De Guiche had raw power, but of the two of them, Cyrano was the more natural warrior. 

De Guiche turned away, shifted into eagle form, and flew out of the window. 

*

Cyrano took Roxane gently by the arm and led her to one of the sitting rooms. She was still trembling. 

She sat on one of the couches and he fetched her a cup of nectar. She sipped it. “That bastard,” she hissed. “This was his plan all along, you know? He admitted it to me. Marry me off to a man I didn’t love, then take advantage of my unhappiness and try and seduce me. Gods, if he tries to lay a hand on me again, I’m going to make him fall in love with a pig.” 

Cyrano clenched his jaw. He wasn’t going to let this happen again. 

*

He spent the next two days in the forge, and the third day in his workshop, turning all his genius to protecting Roxane. 

On the fourth day, he presented her with what he’d made: dozens of pieces of jewellery wrought in bronze, silver, gold, platinum. Decorated with emeralds, opals, rubies, diamonds, sapphires, pearls. 

And each piece had its purpose: razor wire, hidden spikes, pendants that concealed slender blades. From now on, Roxane would be protected wherever she went. And anyone who laid a hand on her would get a nasty surprise. 

*

The knock on his door came late at night. 

Roxane stood outside, her hair slightly mussed. “I can’t sleep.” 

He invited her in. 

She started pacing. Her nightgown had slipped off one of her shoulders, baring the smooth curve of skin. Cyrano tried not to stare. She was wearing one of the necklaces he’d given her, gold glinting in the dark. 

“Look,” said Roxane, “I know that you’ve made me all these things to protect me, and I’m grateful, I really am. And I know I should feel safe now. I’m just… paranoid, I suppose. I keep thinking that he might fly through my window while I sleep. Get to me before I can defend myself.” 

“You can stay in here,” he said softly. “I can bring in a mattress and sleep on the floor while you take the bed.” 

She shook her head. “No, if anything I should be the one on the floor. I’m not going to kick you out of bed just because I’m scared.” 

“Roxane, you can’t expect me to –” 

“Then we’ll share the bed.” 

Cyrano was pretty sure he felt his pulse triple. “Share the…” 

“You take one side, I’ll take the other. It’s a big bed, we’ll be fine. It’s not like you’re the type to try anything with me.” She slid under the covers, ostensibly keeping to her side of the bed. “There. Now you get to keep being a gentleman by not letting a lady sleep on the floor, and I won’t feel bad for turfing you out of bed. Besides, I’ve heard that sharing a bed is all the range for married couples these days.” 

“Roxane…” Cyrano choked, then pulled himself together. “Of course. That’s a – a sensible solution. Good idea.” 

He sat down on the bed beside her, pulled the brace off his leg, and lay down. 

A few times during the night, he looked over at her beside him, and gods, every time he did, she was right there. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And! There! Was! Only! One! Bed!
> 
> I let Cyrano and Roxane grow up together to mirror the summers they spent together as children in Bergerac.


	3. Chapter 2

Christian was a frequent visitor to Cyrano’s forge. It was a necessity; as the god of war, he was often in need of new weapons and armour repairs. Not that it was an _unpleasant_ necessity. Cyrano made good conversation. Better than Christian, in fact. He always left feeling ever-so-slightly stupid, but it was worth it for a taste of the smith god’s wit. 

Today he came bearing a dented breastplate. The blow would have killed any mortal man, but Christian was a god, and a god of war at that. Injuries he’d suffered in battle barely hurt and healed quickly. 

He stopped by the entrance to the forge. 

Cyrano did much of his work in the heart of the volcano where the flames burned brightest. His forge was in a huge natural cavern, with only a few alterations made to suit his needs. The doorway was expertly carved out of the rock, but most of the walls were in their original rough shape. 

The room itself was far too hot for Christian to bear. He never entered, merely looked in. Cyrano, of course, was not affected by the temperature. Christian had seen him plunge his hands into molten lava up to the elbows without a flinch. 

Cyrano had his back to him. Most materials would burn up just from being in the presence of so much heat, so he worked bare chested, wearing only a leather apron and a pair of trousers sewn from specially treated fabric. And the brace on his left leg, of course. 

He was pouring molten metal into a mould. A mortal smith would have used gloves to hold the metal tongs, but Cyrano didn’t need that kind of protection. 

“Cyrano!” Christian called out from the doorway. He found it fascinating to watch Cyrano at work, but he couldn’t stand there forever. The heat made it hard to breathe. 

The smith finished pouring and turned. He walked to the doorway. “What will it be today, Christian?” 

He held up the breastplate, and Cyrano took it from him, turning it over in his hands. “Hmm. This will take a few minutes.” 

He put the breastplate on the anvil and started hammering out the dent, the muscles in his back rippling with every effort. Christian was the god of war, but he secretly suspected that the god of the forge had more raw strength. 

A few more blows, and it was as if the damage had never been there. 

Cyrano handed it back to him. “I told you when I made this that it would dent. Are you sure you don’t want something more robust?” 

“Thanks, but no. I prefer lighter armour.” 

“As you wish.” 

The smith was turning back to his forge when Christian heard himself saying. “I’ve heard some rumours, Cyrano.” 

Cyrano looked at him. As always, his gaze was piercing. Blue eyes like the hottest kind of flame. “What kind of rumours?” 

“They say that you took the goddess of beauty as your wife by force. They say that you threatened De Guiche.” If Cyrano had forced a woman to be his wife, then Christian would have to end their friendship. There were some things that he could not overlook. 

Cyrano’s frown was something that Christian generally tried to avoid, but it was happening now. “I forced nothing on Roxane. We married on De Guiche’s orders, you can ask her yourself. And as for my almost-fight with De Guiche… he had it coming. He had it coming ten times over.” 

“Just be careful, okay? Don’t go antagonising De Guiche again, you know that it won’t end well.” 

Cyrano frowned again. “I won’t start anything. But you can be sure that I’ll bloody well finish it.” 

*

It wasn’t that Christian didn’t believe Cyrano, it was more that he felt he should see the truth of the situation for himself. That, and the fact that he’d never officially met the goddess of beauty; his work as the god of war kept him constantly travelling. She was married to one of Christian’s closest friends, so it was definitely time to begin an acquaintance. 

He found her in one of the upper rooms. Carved out of the mountain, only the upper rooms of Cyrano’s residence had windows, and this was one of them. 

Roxane was weaving in the light of the afternoon sun, and she turned when she heard Christian enter. 

She – she was… 

“Um, hello,” said Christian, thoroughly tongue-tied. 

“Hello,” replied the goddess of beauty, turning on her stool to face him. “You’re Christian, right? The god of war.” 

“Yes,” said Christian, wishing he had something more impressive to say to her. “I, ah, I work a lot with Cyrano. Well, not with him, but he makes my armour. And my weapons. I came here because, um,” he held up the repaired breastplate. 

Roxane stood gracefully and glided across the floor to get a better look at the breastplate. “Cyrano always makes such beautiful things.” 

In that moment, Christian hated the fact that he was the god of war. His powers didn’t involve making beautiful things; his powers were catastrophe and bloodshed, fields sodden and red, the cries of the dead and the dying. There could be glory in war, but surely nothing to attract this woman. 

“So, um, how are you? I mean, er, how’s marriage?” Christian cringed inwardly, but all Roxane did was shrug. 

“Well, it’s not like we wanted to marry each other. Still, it could have been worse. Cyrano and I are good friends, and it’s not like De Guiche can force us to do anything more than marry. Of course, what De Guiche wanted was for me to get bored with Cyrano and become his lover instead. Little did he know that Cyrano has everything I could possibly want in an arranged marriage: good conversation, respect, and a complete lack of interest in taking me to bed.” 

Looking at Roxane, Christian couldn’t think it possible for anyone to be uninterested in bringing Roxane to bed, but he couldn’t say that out loud, so instead he said, “That’s nice.” 

*

After that, Christian started visiting Cyrano’s mountain much more frequently. Ostensibly it was to see his friend Cyrano, but catching a glimpse of Cyrano’s gorgeous, witty new wife definitely had something to do with it. 

He knew he didn’t have much to attract her. Her mind ran so much faster than his did; Christian’s thoughts were lightning-fast in the heat of battle, but talking to women was a skill he didn’t have and suspected he was unable to learn. 

And after a time, his initial attraction to Roxane began to be replaced with _feelings_. Honest-to-gods feelings. 

He continued visiting as he had before, hanging on her every word and gesture, until one day they were relaxing in a courtyard, and Christian managed to make her laugh. (It wasn’t easy, with his slow wits, but he’d finally managed to produce a laugh, and Roxane laughed like a stream pouring over rocks, like sunlight on a rose, like the way a feather floats to the ground.) 

And after that, he begged a kiss from her, and she granted his wish. 

Her mouth was soft on his, her hands cupping his face, his finger tracing that perfect jawline. They kissed again, and again, until suddenly Roxane was pulling away, pushing him away. 

“We can’t do this.” 

“Why not?” 

“Cyrano –” 

“But you don’t love him! And he doesn’t love you. Plenty of married gods take lovers.” 

“Don’t interrupt me. And you know that things are different for married goddesses. And even if that weren’t true, I can’t do that to him. You know what people say – about the way he looks. If anyone found out that I was kissing another man, it would be him that got the mockery for having a wife who didn’t want him, who went behind his back to entertain another man. He’d get the mockery and I’d get the disgrace. I can’t do this, Christian.” 

It hurt. It hurt to say it, but he said it anyway: “I… understand, Roxane. Just friends, then?” 

She fixed her hair. It had gotten mussed from the kiss. “Yes, friends. And absolutely nothing more.” 

*

What neither of them saw when they kissed was Cyrano standing on a high balcony, looking down. He saw them break, then go in for another kiss, before he turned his back on the scene. 

Cyrano walked away from the balcony, left the room, headed to his workshop. Walked, but he wanted to run. He tried to get the image of Roxane kissing Christian out of his head, but it kept pace beside him. 

He shouldn’t feel jealous. Roxane might be his wife, but she wasn’t his property. She wouldn’t be the first god to find her pleasure outside of matrimony, and Christian was as good a man as any. Better than most, in fact. 

Cyrano had been hoping, he realised. Somehow, he’d allowed himself to hope that, given enough time, Roxane might see something in him. That she’d begin to love him in a way that was more than platonic. 

Fool. 

And if Cyrano also derived some pleasure from checking the fit on Christian’s breastplate every time he made a new one then, well, that was nobody’s business either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Christian and Cyrano are both going through bisexual crises in this chapter.
> 
> The kiss in this chapter is a sort-of parallel to the balcony kiss in the play.


	4. Chapter 3

Squabbles among the gods were common, but all-out war was far rarer. Still, just because something was rare didn’t mean that it couldn’t happen. 

Sharp comments had turned into fists had turned into war. 

Christian was soaked in ichor – both his own and others. Luckily for him, war sustained him, his injuries closing up quickly, his limbs never tiring. He fought back-to-back with Cyrano. Earlier in the fight, Cyrano had lost his sword inside an opponent and was now fighting with a spear; far from his favoured weapon, but it was better than being empty-handed. 

At first, Christian didn’t notice the disturbance at the edge of the battlefield, but his senses were so attuned to the fight that it didn’t take him long. Heads turned and fights broke off as the most beautiful woman in the world rode a chariot onto the battlefield. 

Roxane wore no armour and carried no visible weapons. She twitched the reins, and the huge bronze steeds that Cyrano had made for her chariot slowed and stopped, red eyes glowing. She turned her head to look down on De Guiche, who was frozen mid-grapple. “I don’t care what petty grievance started this war,” she told him, “But it ends now. I’m taking my husband and my friend home.” 

She jerked her head at Christian and Cyrano. “Get in.” 

As he walked towards Roxane, Christian realised that Cyrano’s bad leg was dragging through the churned-up mud and ichor of the battlefield. His brace had been damaged in the fight, and he needed Christian’s help to step up onto the chariot. He was bleeding from several wounds. 

As Roxane turned the chariot to drive off the battlefield, Cyrano leaned against the side of it, taking the weight off his leg. His eyes darted between Christian and Roxane. 

*

Once they stepped off the chariot inside the mountain, Roxane caught at Cyrano’s arm. “Come with me, your wounds need tending.” 

“I can do it myself, Roxane. No need to ruin your dress.” 

Her voice was stern. “I don’t care about my dress, I care that my husband is dripping ichor onto the floor.” 

“You can help Christian. He’s a guest here.” 

“Christian is the god of war. His wounds are already healing. Yours on the other hand…” She shot him a stern look. 

“Alright. Alright.” 

His leg brace creaked with every step until he reached their shared bedroom and sat heavily on the bed, ruining the sheets. 

Roxane got to work, cleaning the wounds and then working what little healing magic she could muster. It wasn’t enough to close the wounds entirely, but at least the bleeding had stopped by the time she’d started applying bandages. 

“There,” she said, stepping back, wiping golden ichor onto her already blood-stained dress. “As goddess of beauty I’m not much of a healer, but I can make it so that they heal cleanly and won’t scar. Though I’m afraid I can’t make them heal any faster.” 

“Thank you, Roxane.” Cyrano stood with a certain degree of difficulty. Roxane reached out to help him steady himself, but he waved her off and headed to the doorway, where Roxane saw Christian standing. He must have followed them, having nothing better to do. 

“I need to change my leg brace,” said Cyrano quietly. “In the meantime, maybe the two of you can help each other change into some clean clothes. I’ll be a while with the brace. You can make the most of the time.” 

“Cyrano,” said Roxane breathlessly, “What are you implying?” 

Cyrano paused in the doorway, just past Christian. “I saw you together. It’s alright, Roxane. I never expected you to love me.” 

He walked away and was gone. 

Roxane sank to the floor. “He saw us,” she said dully. 

Christian sat down next to her. “But that’s alright isn’t it? He’s said that it’s alright.” 

Roxane put her head in her hands. “It should be,” she said. “It should be. But then why does it hurt so much? I – the look on his face, he… Why does the fact that he never expected me to love him hurt so much?” She dropped her hands and her head snapped up. “Oh.” 

“What?” 

“I… I think I’m in love with Cyrano.” 

Christian leaned back, shock written large on his face. “You don’t love me?” He sounded so hurt. She hadn’t wanted to hurt him. 

“No, no, I still love you, I really do, but – I think I might love Cyrano too. I –” Roxane began to weep. “Gods, I’m the goddess of love, why am I so bad at this? And Cyrano, he doesn’t even love me. He doesn’t even love me back.” 

*

Christian found Cyrano in one of his many workshops. It had taken him long enough to track him down that Cyrano had found time to both change his clothes and his leg brace. The old one lay twisted and broken on the floor – Cyrano must have pulled it off himself, bending the metal back with his bare hands – while the new one encasing Cyrano’s bad leg had the sheen of new bronze. 

Cyrano’s shoulders hunched slightly when he saw Christian enter. “I left you alone with my wife. What do you want, Christian?” 

“You’ve upset Roxane.” 

“What?” he looked incredulous. 

“She’s crying, Cyrano.” 

Cyrano’s look of disbelief was replaced by one of dismay. “What – but I gave permission. She loves you, I said I wouldn’t stand in the way of her being with you…” 

Christian shook his head. “I know – I know that she loves me. She’s all about love and beautiful things and making sure mortals find their soulmates – good things, you know? And I’m the god of war. All bloodshed and horror. I didn’t choose to be, but – anyway. Point is that I know she loves me, but that’s not all. She loves you too.” 

Was that fear in Cyrano’s eyes? “No – no that’s not possible.” 

“I think it is. I mean, you make all these beautiful things. You’re an artist. I get why she’d like that.” 

Cyrano was shaking his head. “No. No. It isn’t possible. I – look at me, Christian. My own mother couldn’t love this face. Every part of my body is twisted and ugly. There’s nothing in me for the goddess of beauty to want. And you’re – you always look… and she kissed you, she’s never kissed me, she’d never want to touch me like that. It’s inconceivable for her to love me back.” 

“No it’s not,” said Christian softly, as he walked slowly towards Cyrano. “You can be loved.” 

Cyrano shook his head again. “No-one has ever wanted me.” 

“I do.” Christian normally paid no attention to the fact that he was taller than Cyrano, but he noticed it now as he bent down to kiss him. 

It was soft, at first. Cyrano was hesitant, but soon they were kissing deeper. Christian had his hand on Cyrano’s forearm, and he could feel the strength of the muscle there, how swinging a hammer was nothing to the smith god. 

When they pulled apart, they stared at each other wordlessly, not quite believing what they’d just done, until Christian cupped Cyrano’s face. “We should go back – we’ve left Roxane all on her own, and she’s so upset.” 

Cyrano nodded. “Back. Yes. I – I wish I hadn’t hurt her like that.” 

They headed to the door, Cyrano slightly unsteady on his newly-braced leg. “She really does love you, you know,” said Christian. “She said so herself. She loves both of us.” 

“Why would she want me when she already has you?” asked Cyrano quietly. “Why would you want me when you already have her?” 

Christian rested his hand gently on Cyrano’s shoulder. “I think perhaps you don’t see your own worth. But maybe if you let us be with you, you might know your own value one day.” 

*

Christian stayed in the doorway and Cyrano knelt beside her, his bad leg folding a little awkwardly under him. 

“I’m sorry, Roxane,” he said softly. 

“That’s alright. I shouldn’t have kissed Christian.” 

“I don’t mind that you kissed him,” Cyrano replied. A long pause. Then: “I love you. I’ve been in love with you for years. Centuries. I never thought you’d love me back, I never expected it from you. When De Guiche forced us to marry, I hated it, because I knew that… there was little chance of you falling in love with me, and even less if I was forced on you. But if you feel anything for me… I expect nothing, there’s no obligation on your part. But I am yours, in whatever way you’ll have me.” 

Roxane wiped her tears and looked up at Cyrano. He looked terrified, but there were acres of love in his eyes. 

She kissed him: his mouth first, and found his lips trembling, then his forehead gently. “Darling, what on earth did Christian say to you?” 

“He – we talked.” A short pause. “He kissed me.” 

Over Cyrano’s shoulder, Roxane raised her eyebrows at Christian. Not critically; merely a polite instruction to provide more details. 

Christian had the decency to blush. “I – well – I mean, you said that you love both of us. And after you said that, I realised that I felt certain – feelings for Cyrano, so I – I mean, I wanted you to be able to be with him and me, so maybe the three of us can all just… be together?” 

She looked over at Cyrano, who swallowed. “I would be lying if I said that I didn’t have certain – feelings for Christian. Not that I expected them to be returned, any more than I expected my feelings for you to be returned. And yet, he kissed me.” 

Roxane beckoned Christian over. “Come here.” 

Christian knelt beside her. Roxane kissed him, and it was warmer for knowing that Cyrano was with them, and that he approved. Then she kissed Cyrano, who still seemed rather surprised about it, but after she pulled away, he smiled. 

“As goddess of love,” said Roxane, taking their hands, “I am something of an expert on these things, and I can say with absolute certainty that we all ought to have been a lot more open about our feelings, these past few months. And I am very glad that we’re talking about them now.” She stood. “Now, bed for all three of us, I think.” 

Both men exchanged a glance. 

“Roxane,” said Christian, “Do you mean…” 

“What I mean,” she replied, “Is that we’ve all had quite a trying day, Cyrano is still badly wounded, and I think we all need a rest, but I don’t want us to stop talking about _us_ now that we’ve finally started. So, bed.” 

Christian stood. Cyrano, still seated, shifted slightly before muttering, “A little help, if you please? My brace needs some fine tuning before it’ll work like the old one did.” 

They both reached down and helped him up, and when he stood, he winced. 

Christian frowned with worry. “Cyrano, your wounds –” 

“Will heal. We all know that they’re not severe, but as much as I don’t like to admit to fatigue, I think Roxane was right about my needing rest.” 

Christian kissed his cheek. “Come on then.” 

Roxane and Christian supported Cyrano between them as they made their way to bed, and to rest. 

*

Roxane removed the last of the bandages. “There. No scarring as promised.” 

“It wouldn’t have mattered much if there were scars,” said Cyrano. “It’s not like I could get much uglier.” 

Christian sat up in bed and put his arm around Cyrano. “Hey. We talked about this. The three of us had a whole conversation about you and self-esteem.” 

Roxane sat on the bed next to them. “Sometimes I miss our cove,” she said, leaning against Cyrano’s shoulder. “We were so happy back then, and neither of us knew what beauty was, so everything was beautiful. We were free.” 

“We could go back there,” said Cyrano. “All three of us.” 

*

Picture if you will, three gods on a beach. 

The woman is laughing as she dances through the shallow waves. Another man chases her playfully, not really trying to catch her. The third man is slower because of his bad leg, but that doesn’t matter. The other two stop running and let him catch up with them. It wouldn’t be right for the two of them to be together without him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone remember the Cyrano/Christian kiss in the Martin Crimp adaptation? I do.
> 
> I’ve also parallelled Roxane’s badass arrival at Arras.
> 
> I remember a few years ago reading a thinkpiece about what if Aphrodite actually did love Hephaestus, and she never cheated with Ares. It was just the gods assuming that the goddess of beauty wouldn’t want a husband like Hephaestus. Here, I’ve taken it a step further: what if Aphrodite, Hephaestus, and Ares were all happily in love in a steady throuple, but the gods assumed that Aphrodite must be cheating with Ares behind her husband’s back.


End file.
